


Getaway Playboy

by Bulltanshit



Category: Baby Driver (2017), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Baby Driver AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2018-12-21 23:41:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 11,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11955156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bulltanshit/pseuds/Bulltanshit
Summary: The most talented getaway driver in Seoul drowns out the sounds of his crimes with K-pop music. However, when his last heist goes awry, Playboy must face the music, or risk losing his family, his freedom, and the love of his life.Starring Jeon Jungkook as Playboy, Kim Namjoon as Captain, Min Yoongi as Gloss, Park Jimin as Cinder, and Jung Hoseok as Seven. Kim Taehyung and Kim Seokjin as themselves.Cameo appearances from Shin Donghyuk as Suprema, Jackson Wang as Mad Dog, Eric Nam as Starstripe, and Bang Shihyuk as himself.A BTS Baby Driver AU.





	1. HER by Block B

Today’s target is a tiny bank branch on the outskirts of the city. Playboy stops the car in front of the building. According to the street sign, parking is only allowed for a maximum of five minutes. No idling allowed. Not a problem. Playboy’s crew aren’t the types to dawdle. Playboy keeps his thumb on the white disc of his iPod. The black one with a crack on the side. The fast songs.

His three accomplices are decked out in dark, expensive sunglasses, bandannas around their necks, and long, black trenchcoats. It’s a striking contrast to Playboy’s civilian clothes: black and white jacket, skinny jeans, and hand-me-down sunglasses he stole from the last heist’s car.

Suprema sitting in the passenger seat is stoic and focused, his curly permed hair shoved under a baseball cap today. Gloss is bored, as usual. He’s already covered his face with his bandanna. Cinder is smirking--he pulls down Gloss’ bandanna a smidge, and sneaks a kiss onto his cheek. Gloss's cheeks flush. They look like they’re about to commit to marriage, instead of commit a felony.

The three of them emerge from their flashy red vehicle, slamming its doors and quickly grabbing the equipment from the back: heavy, silver suitcases. Playboy counts the steps they take towards the entrance. He presses the black button on his iPod.

 

_♪Jesus, what words can I even say?♪_

 

Playboy closes his eyes.

 

_♪Everyone calls you a masterpiece, love♪_

 

He places his hands on the steering wheel.

 

 _♪Just a little bit of you_ _♪_

 

Breaks into a goofy grin.

 

_♪I value all of it, baby♪_

 

Playboy shouts, insync with the song, exactly--

 

_♪Yeah♪_

“YEAH!”

 

_♪Yeah♪_

“YEAH!”

 

He smacks his hands onto the steering wheel, and taps out the rhythm of the song into the dashboard. Playboy lip-syncs joyously to the boisterous pop song, delighting in the symphony of cacophonous drums, insane baseline, and catchy as hell lyrics. He rolls down the window and taps out the melody on the side of his car, embracing his own cheesy dancing and pointing to an imaginary audience whenever a particularly striking cymbal crash strikes. He casually pulls the gearshift into reverse while scream-singing, “BLOCK B! Yup! It’s excellent, baby!” and nudges the windshield wipers to move together with the song. He’s fully immersed in the music channeling through his young veins, making his tightly-wound nerves relax until he feels as young as he should feel.

It’s almost enough to drown out the sounds coming from the bank.

 

BANG!

 

Playboy stops. Through the window of the building, he can see that his passengers have cracked open those silver suitcases to reveal  enormous guns, and shot bullets into the ceiling as a warning to any pedestrians or tellers who may feel like playing the hero today. Playboy lowers his sunglasses from his eyes. It seems that the civilians are all complying well. Thank God. Playboy tenses, as Cinder cocks his gun against a bank teller's head, but Gloss pulls him back, gesturing to the already packed suitcases of money. Suprema shoots one more warning gunshot into the ceiling, before the three of them burst out of the bank. They race back to the car.

 

_♪Listen carefully!♪_

 

Suprema shouts something like, “Step on it!” but Playboy is already two steps ahead of him. He slams the accelerator with his foot.

 

_♪Be careful of the wolves around you♪_

_♪Bastards only care about outer appearances♪_

 

The car lurches into reverse, and Playboy can hear Suprema, Gloss, and Cinder scream in confusion. Playboy slams the gearshift back into drive, and swivels the car around the corner towards their new destination.

 

_♪And it feels like I’ve been hit on my head with a hammer♪_

_♪I’m feeling light-headed and dizzy♪_

 

Siren sounds breach the shield of pop music in Playboy’s ears, and he grimaces, looking into his mirrors to find the feds have already got three police cars tailing him. Not bad, but they would only be a thorn in his side, not a death sentence. More cop cars block his way into the highway, and if he squints, he can spot a cop throw spiked wire onto the road to puncture his tires.

Playboy twists the car into a drift onto its side, causing the metallic beast to slide away from the toothed wire, instead catching the end of it into lead into a trap for the very cop cars chasing them. From the rear-view mirrors, Playboy spots the police cars crashing into each other in a spectacular display of incompetence as the song's chorus swells. Cinder cheers appreciatively.

More black and white cars replace the fallen, as Playboy’s crew speeds down the freeway, narrowly dodging other cars on the road. Even this far from the center of Seoul, traffic is atrocious. Overhead, company tracks them in the form of a helicopter hawk, no doubt attempting to spot a red car on the freeway containing more than 30,000,000 won in its trunk.

 

_♪I used to be emotionless like a rock♪_

 

Playboy scowls, desperately searching for any ticket of escape.

 

_♪But now I know that I’m a fool once again♪_

 

There, on the leftmost lane of the freeway.

 

_♪When I snapped out of it, I realized I was in front of you♪_

 

Two other red cars.

 

_♪Oh, oh! Could you be my real love?♪_

 

Playboy slides the car across the road, with no regard for the other bastards going on their 9-to-5 commutes in their family cars. Playboy wedges his car in between the other cars, just in time for the tunnel to pass over their cars and give them just enough time to dodge the cop-hawk’s view.

When they emerge, Playboy launches into the next exit, and Gloss leans upfront, patting Playboy’s shoulder approvingly. He says that they’ve lost the helicopter and the cop cars entirely.

Their car speeds closer and closer towards the destination, but on the way, Playboy decides to take a shortcut through a tiny alleyway. It’s a fatal mistake: the car is in the direct pathway of a loading truck, just begging for crash.

Suprema shouts, “Whoa, whoa, whoa--!”

 

_♪Her! Oh!♪_

_♪Her! Oh!♪_

_♪Baby, I’m all yours!♪_

 

Playboy jerks the steering wheel to the left, spinning the car into oblivion, narrowly dodging collision, and miraculously speeds away, unharmed.

 

_♪Jesus, what words can I even say?♪_

_♪Everyone calls you a masterpiece, love♪_

_♪Just a little bit of you ♪_

_♪I value all of it, baby♪_

_♪Every bit of you is so pretty, yeah!♪_

 

They arrive at the parking garage, and exit the car. Suprema ditches his baseball cap. Gloss shoves his bandanna into his pocket, and takes off his heavy trench coat with a huff. Cinder hastily ditches his coat, and puts on an innocent pink sweater. Together, the four of them pile into the new getaway car set up for them. Grey. Shitty. Innocuous. Cinder takes over the wheel, and as they exit the parking garage, and the final roaring guitar riffs of the song play out.

 


	2. Red Queen by IU feat. Zion. T

The Gangnam district of Seoul is an infamous haven of wealth, debauchery, and excess, and damn, did its cafes make excellent coffee.

Excellent yet overpriced coffee. Whatever. If Playboy forgets Captain’s favourite iced americano for the information briefing, he runs a very real risk of assassination. Workplace drama can get so rough in this business.

Playboy's grin takes up half his face. He whistles today’s tune while walking towards the coffee shop, skipping and shimmying without a care in the world. 

 

_♪That girl with no expressions♪_

_♪That girl everybody hates♪_

_♪That girl even you know♪_

 

IU is such an inspiration. Her lilting voice, her puncturing lyricism, her subtle instrumentation. Her life: a teenager overcoming her underdog upbringing to become a superstar. Playboy grins. He twirls around in the middle of the sidewalk, and salutes the sky. Him and IU are kindred spirits.

 

_♪That girl is oh so pitiful♪_

_♪That girl everyone is afraid of♪_

_♪That girl you know♪_

 

It’s a great day. The sky is a perfect blue, the sun is bright in the sky, and a cool summer breeze cuts through the humidity. A slight breeze courses through the air, and it caresses Playboy’s soft, brown hair like a gentle pet. He passes by stuffy office workers on their lunch breaks, adorned in stiff dress shirts and pantsuits, unable to enjoy the weather when they’re stuck commuting to the office. Playboy plays around even more as he walks, flashing bigger grins and spinning better twirls.

 

_♪Should I tell you a funny story (It might be a little sad, too)♪_

_♪Believe it or not, it’s a lighthearted story♪_

_♪(Please keep this a secret) Ah, the thing is♪_

 

He wishes he didn’t have to wear his black face mask while walking out and about, but discretion was advised for today.

 

_♪That girl♪_

_♪That despicable girl♪_

_♪There was a time she used to laugh♪_

_♪(As deep blue as a blue day)♪_

 

Playboy steps into the coffee shop, the bell jingling loudly as he opens the door. It’s one of those trendy cafes that attracts rich hipsters and caffeine-addicted business people. There are little independent rooms with glass doors where you can sit privately, and Playboy can’t count how many times Captain has dragged him to those tables in order to discuss business and inhale coffee grounds. Playboy walks in line, behind a tall stranger with dark brown hair.  

He’s wearing a white sweater with holes cut out on the shoulders, baggy black pants, and open-toed sandals. Over his ears are bright purple headphones. A strange outfit for a stranger. Even stranger is the fact that his head is bobbing along to the tempo of Playboy’s song.

 

 _♪_ _Boys obviously, but also girls_ _♪_

 _♪_ _Even the things that aren’t human_ _♪_

 _♪_ _Everybody fell for her, fell in love with her_ _♪_

 _♪_ _Her laugh was that beautiful_ _♪_

 

Playboy checks his earbuds to find out if they’re leaking sound into the public. They're not. The stranger grabs his coffee, and turns to leave. Playboy can barely see the boy’s face from underneath his coffee cup held to his mouth, but the stranger makes a strong enough impression on him that Playboy does a double-take as he exits the coffee shop, still stepping in time with Playboy’s song.

 

_♪Wearing a gala dress♪_

_♪Innocently chatting♪_

_♪That pale, dried up cheek♪_

_♪Used to be full of life♪_

_♪Oh Red Queen♪_

 

“Sir? Your order?”

Playboy jolts, and pulls out an earbud. The sounds of the cafe fill his right ear: clattering spoons, soft chatter, writers tapping away on their keyboards, sipping sounds, the rustle of paper flipping as patrons read books. A hint of ringing in his ear. He lowers his sunglasses to properly scan the menu.

“I’ll have a large iced americano, a large espresso, a medium vanilla latte, and a large black coffee,” Playboy says in a low voice, rattling off the list in a rush.

The barista looks taken aback, but he manages to catch all the orders. He asks, “Your name, please?”

“Playboy.”

The barista blinks.

“Playboy?”

He nods, and spells out, “P-L-A-Y--”

The barista holds up a hand, and says, “I know how to spell it, man.” He looks like he’s about to drown himself in the coffee out of secondhand embarrassment.

Playboy shrugs, and shells out some money onto the counter. He steps to the side, and gets his coffee once his name is called. He leaves the shop, humming his song down the sidewalk once more.

 

_♪Children obviously, but adults too♪_

_♪Even the things that don’t have life♪_

_♪Everything fell in love, fell in love with her♪_

_♪Her heart was that beautiful too♪_

 

He’s nearing his destination when he spots a stray cop walking along the sidewalk. Bumbling. Off-tempo. A sonic black hole. Playboy tries to stay cool, but he can’t help remembering the headlines on all the newspapers this morning, emblazoned with descriptions of a young adult male, around his height, with his build, with his colour hair, with his blurry face, involved in a bank robbery on the outskirts of town.

 

_♪Even when she gazed♪_

_♪At the tiniest, poorest of things♪_

_♪Those passionless, depressing eyes♪_

_♪Used to sparkle so bright♪_

_♪Oh Red Queen♪_

 

The cloying feeling of paranoia clenches his heart. He jaywalks across the street, nearly getting run over in the process, before arriving on the other side of the road. The local church is on that side, with the voice of a preacher faintly piercing into Playboy’s ears, chanting about the cleansing of sin. He would much rather pass a kitschy chocolate shop or a stuffy office building.

 

_♪That girl with the beautiful smile♪_

_♪That girl who everybody calls pretty♪_

_♪That girl even you know♪_

_♪That girl everybody loves♪_

 

_♪That girl is oh so pitiful♪_

_♪That girl everybody is afraid of♪_

_♪That girl you know♪_

 

He runs towards the graffiti-stained building that’s a black mark on the loveliness of the entire neighbourhood, taking measured looks back at the cop still slamming parking tickets onto cars lined on the street. The building is emblazoned with “Bighit Entertainment Company:” a transparent money-laundering front that somehow passes as a legitimate business under the eyes of the law. He rushes inside. Playboy’s safe.

 

_♪Well this is trivial♪_

_♪It’s an absurd story♪_

_♪Believe it or not, it’s a silly story♪_

_♪Everybody just forget it♪_

 

Safe for now.


	3. View by SHINee

“Finally, Playboy. That coffee run took forever.”

Captain stands in front of the whiteboard like he’s a teacher. In a twisted sort of way, he does teach Playboy. Captain is the kingpin of this area’s local crime ring. He’s got so many contacts and criminals under his control that Playboy's surprised he doesn't puppet strings aren’t visibly tangled around his long fingers. Captain has the bleached hair, thick-rimmed glasses, and fashion sense of a hipster in the coffee shop. He’s as young as a hipster college kid, but he’s been in the business ever since Playboy was thirteen years old.

“Playboy!”

The criminal Cinder, with a gleaming, rosy-cheeked grin, jumps onto Playboy’s back. He’s still wearing the fluffy pink sweater from the heist.  “You got my order?”

He silently nods, and holds up the vanilla latte. Cinder takes the cup. “And?”

Playboy shows Cinder the espresso. He snatches it, and pats Playboy's head. “Good boy.”

Playboy has been working with Cinder since they were both teenagers. Cinder was different back then: more reserved. More cold. He had dark hair and thick, toned muscles. Now his hair was bleached a golden yellow, and was chubby and smiley most of the time.

Cinder hops off Playboy’s back, and skips to his seat at the white table. He doesn’t sit in his chair: instead, he presses himself into Gloss’s lap, and holds up his drink. Gloss is checking over some business papers on the desk. He distractedly catches the straw of his drink in the corner of his mouth. His expression remains unchanged. Cinder doesn’t seem to mind. He caresses Gloss’s scruffy black hair and strokes his pale cheeks, whispering sweet nothings into his ear.

Suprema doesn’t emerge from his seat, which makes Playboy walk over and hand him the coffee. Suprema doesn’t thank him.

He goes to Namjoon, and gives him his iced americano. Namjoon nods, and takes a sip.

“Thank you. You can sit down. We’re just wrapping up here.”

Playboy obliges. He patiently watches as money is split and debts are negotiated, silent and stoic, listening to his music while the adults talk money and business. He’s parked himself in his usual stool, at the back of the room. If this were a classroom, he would be in the outsider seat. The outsider out of bigger, badder outsiders.

Suprema leans towards Captain. He's older than Captain, and has the scars and the scowl to suggest toughness, but there's still a way in which he cowers his head towards Captain that indicates respect.

“What’s his deal?” he says in what he probably thinks is a quiet voice.

Captain replies, “Playboy? Full cut. Same as everyone else.”

“No-- I mean, is he in over his own head?”

“Pardon?”

“Is he retarded?” Suprema says, in exasperation.

Captain’s mouth twitches. “Retarded means slow--is he slow?”

“No.”

“Well then, he doesn’t sound retarded to me,” Captain says, matter-of-fact. He resumes counting the stack of bills in his hands.

“I do not love that logic,” Suprema muttered. “Something about him is off to me. Don’t you find it weird that he never talks?”

Captain gives him a pointed look. “There’s nothing wrong with a little quiet.”

“What’s with the tunes--”

Captain makes a zip-it motion. “You’ll make me lose count.”

Suprema huffs, and stands up. He strolls up to Playboy.

“What are you listening to?”

Playboy doesn’t answer. Suprema takes out a bud in his ear.

“Hey.” He snaps his fingers in front of Playboy’s face. “Hey. Boy."

He snatches Playboy’s iPod from his hands, and scoffs.

“You think you’re smart for acting dumb, eh?”

Gloss says, without looking up from his papers, “Leave the kid alone.”

“It’s cool, it’s cool. Look, I’m just trying to understand our little getaway driver. Find out what’s going on in his head, other than--” He glances down at the iPod, and scoffs. “--SHINee k-pop music.”

Cinder offhandedly says, “I love Taemin.”

Gloss, in his deadpan voice, asks Suprema, “Why do you care?”

“I just think--” Suprema says loudly, tossing the iPod back into Playboy’s hands, “--that he thinks he’s better than us. We’re getting out here, risking our necks, while he thinks he's in hot wheels: the musical.”

Suprema smacks the sunglasses off of Playboy's face. His eyes are huge and brown, like the eyes of a newborn calf. His face remains expressionless.

Arms crossed and glowering, Suprema says, “Here’s a wake up call, kid. One day, you’re gonna get blood on your hands, and lemme tell you: that shit don’t wash off in the fucking sink.”

“Give the kid a break, Suprema,” Cinder pouts.

“Why should I, when I know this business won’t?”

Gloss throws his papers on the desk, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Look, the kid did his job. Let him be.”

“Oh, I’m not saying he didn’t do his job,” Suprema said, grinning. His teeth were big and sharp. “I’m just worried about the day he won’t. The day he’ll crack.”

He stands still for a moment, before faking a punch at Playboy’s face. The kid doesn’t flinch.

Captain walks over to them, and throws Playboy’s duffel bag of cash into his lap.

“I vouch for him, isn’t that enough?” Captain growls. Now, he was starting to look pissed.

Suprema holds his hands up defensively.

“Hey, the world’s a big and scary place. I’m only looking out for the boy.” Suprema smirks. “Has he ever even held a gun?”

Suprema pulls out his revolver on his belt, and spins it, handle in front, towards Playboy.

“Go on. Hold it. Shoot me, if I’m pissing you off.”

Playboy takes out another pair of sunglasses from his pocket, and puts them on. He stays silent. Suprema scowls, and puts his gun back into his holster.

“Alright. Don’t come crying to me if you’re in a stand-off and you don’t know how to pull the trigger.”

He holds his hand out to Captain standing next to him. He produces Suprema’s bag full of his cut for the heist. Suprema snatches it. After a moment of consideration, he also smacks the sunglasses off of Playboy’s face, for the second time. With a smug look on his face, Suprema walks towards the elevator.

Playboy takes a third pair of sunglasses out of his pocket, and puts them on: unfazed as ever.

 


	4. Words Don't Come Easy by Mamamoo

Playboy, Captain, Gloss, Cinder, and Suprema are all stuck in the elevator together.

Cinder and Gloss are desperately making out as though their lives depend on it. In such close quarters, it’s difficult not to notice anything else.

Suprema continues glaring at Playboy. He’s probably contemplating knocking off his sunglasses for a fourth time. Either that, or he’s staring in order to distract himself from the happy couple. The slurping saliva noises are magnified quite a bit in the enclosed space.

"What do you think of that, Playboy? Dad and daddy are getting it on," Suprema murmurs derisively.

Gloss breaks apart from Cinder. “When do you get off?”

“Oh look, lover boy resurfaces.”

“Seriously, when do you get off?”

Suprema holds up a finger.  “Right--” The elevator door pings, “--Here.”

He steps out of the elevator. “Okay folks, if you don’t hear from me...it’s because I’m dead.” He pauses. “Or my rapping career has finally taken off.”

The door closes. There’s a brief silence of contemplation.

“Jackass,” Cinder snickers. He grabs the front of Gloss’ shirt, and playfully whispers into his lover's ear. “What should we do with all that money we earned today?”

Gloss considers the question. His kiss-swollen lips form a pout. “We could invest in a retirement fund. Maybe purchase some stocks.”

“Or,” Cinder smiles, fluttering his lashes innocently, “We could blow it all on booze and drugs.” He closes the space in between them, and starts kissing Gloss again.

The elevator door pings graciously. Cinder drags Gloss out by the hand.

“Bye guys!” He calls, throwing up a cheeky peace sign. “Hope to do business soon!”

“We’ll be back before you know it,” Gloss says plainly to Captain. He glances at Playboy. “Good work today, kid. Hey, do yourself a favour. Next time captain calls?”

Gloss gives Playboy a tiny smirk, and shrugs his shoulders.

“Don’t pick up.”

Cinder covers his mouth with a sweater-pawed hand, and giggles as the door shuts.

Captain sighs, as the elevator journeys down to its last level.

“Don’t listen to him.”

Playboy stares at him. Nods.

“Yes, Captain.”

 

* * *

 

The parking lot is large and cavernous, packed with an infinite stretch of cars that Playboy can’t get his grimy hands on without permission. Playboy’s ears feel hollow without the comfort of his earbuds, but he knows he can't wear them right now. Not in his presence.

Captain smiles genially at Playboy.

“Now, I didn’t want to embarrass you in front of you new friends, but we both know how much you earned today.”

Playboy obediently hands over his bag of cash. Captain fishes through it, grabbing a single stack of bills. He throws the entire bag into his car, and hands what’s left over to Playboy.

“Now, one more job, and we're square.”

“Uh,” Playboy gulps, barely able to hear over the ringing in his ears. “Yeah.”

Captain clicks the keys to his car. It’s expensive. Really, really expensive. Playboy’s driven it exactly once, his entire life.

The parking garage is so dark, and so quiet. Captain strokes the soft curls of Playboy’s hair, and smiles. “Don’t go too crazy with that money. I want you back behind the wheel soon.”

“Yes, Captain,” Playboy mumbles.

“I’ll call you.”

He opens the front seat of his car, and drives away, leaving Playboy all alone in the deafening silence.


	5. Pretty U by SEVENTEEN

It’s the end of a new day, which means the beginning of a new song on a new device. This one has a fresh green cover, and only a few scratches on the surface.

 

_♪Got so much to say♪_

_♪but can’t organize myself♪_

_♪Help me, S.O.S♪_

 

Playboy counts out the stack of bills he earned today. He nods his head to the beat of the jubilant song blasting from his speakers. He needs to get new ones: the left one is busted up from that time he accidentally knocked it onto the floor in a fit of erratic dance moves.

Then again, his speaker can’t possibly take priority over renovating the kitchen. Or fixing the taped-up shattered window. Or repairing the A/C. Maybe even just moving out of this tiny apartment into some place less expensive. Seoul rent wasn’t all that cheap, even for the bare minimum of living standards. Playboy has a lot bigger priorities than the quality of his musical devices, but you wouldn’t be able to tell that from his house. Stacks of mixtapes and CDs litter the apartment desks and corners. The shelves pile high with records and albums. In his room, is a tightly cramped desk filled with over seventy listening devices he’s jacked from various cars over the years, along with just as many sunglasses. Playboy isn’t wearing his pair right now, though. He hardly ever wears them around the house. Playboy nods his head along to the happy idol music and stuffs the money under the floorboards, along with all the other stacks of his accumulated cash.

After he’s finished counting out his cash, Playboy celebrates by copying the idol choreography that goes along with the song, delighting in the crisp moves of the real dance. He giggles, and jumps around his apartment, grabbing various spoons to croon into. He slides across the room, and kneels towards his brother, roommate, and sole family member.

Seokjin smiles affectionately at his little brother, placing his hand on the right speaker to feel the vibrations of the song. He nods appreciatively at the song choice.

The T.V. in front of his brother is turned on to the local news station. It’s emblazoned with footage of today’s bank robbery. Playboy makes a mad dash towards the remote, and clicks the T.V. off.

Seokjin hold up his hands. In Korean Sign Language, he says:

_I was watching that._

Playboy snarkily signs back, _Watching too much T.V will hurt your eyes, old man._

Seokjin leans on his wheelchair and sighs. _You brat. I’m barely twenty four. I’m not an old man!_

_Love you too, big bro._

Playboy holds up a theatrical hand heart, and then gestures towards the kitchen. You hungry?

_Yeah._

_Kimchi rice?_

_Yes please._ Seokjin flashes a grin.

Playboy obliges, and spins towards the kitchenette to cook dinner. He makes a big show of pouring the rice into the cooker, and chopping the lettuce becomes another dance.

 

_♪Pills for cold, meals for hunger♪_

_♪Me for you♪_

_♪I want to define you as me♪_

_♪Like this in the dictionary♪_

_♪By the way, what should I do today?♪_

 

By the end of his grand display, he presents a bowl of hot kimchi rice to his brother. He eats it enthusiastically, and giving Playboy a big thumbs up.

Playboy isn’t fooled. He knows it tastes like hot garbage. He’ll never be as good of a cook as Seokjin was a few years ago, back when he could still stand in the kitchen and cook those insanely delicious meals with what little scraps they had. His brother was a master chef, back when he was able to stand and walk around the kitchen.

 

_♪I want to pick and gather all the pretty words for you♪_

_♪They stick in my throat in front of you♪_

 

Playboy strikes a dorky pose in front of Seokjin. He laughs loudly. Playboy smiles. His brother's laughter sounds a lot better than any pop song.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews/comments/suggestions always appreciated. Thanks!


	6. Bawling by Primary and Ohyuk

Playboy absentmindedly clicks through the T.V channels after dinner. His bowl of kimchi rice is half-eaten and abandoned beside him, and he’s lazily settled into the squishy armchair like it’s his cocoon. His playlist has been set to shuffle, allowing a random, serenely solemn song to hum in the background of the T.V’s chatter.

BZRT!

A Disney princess is held in a prince’s arms.

_“Ha. This is awkward. Not you're awkward, but just because we're-- I'm awkward. You're gorgeous.”_

BZRT!

An animated young girl reads from a chalkboard:

_“Time waits for no one.”_

BZRT!

A superhero in a robotic suit gestures in front of him:

_“I hope I can protect the one thing I can't live without.”_

Playboy glances to his side, and finds that his older brother has fallen fast asleep in his wheelchair, his handsome head lolled to the side. Playboy sighs. He points the controller at the screen bearing the superhero's rugged face, and shuts it off. Playboy rolls his brother towards his bed, and carefully carries him onto the mattress. He throws the comforter over his body, and quietly closes the door.

 

* * *

 

In Playboy’s room, he fiddles with his recording equipment. His microphone hovers in front of his face, ancient and underutilized, but still functional. Playboy takes a deep breath , and covers his ears with headphones. His breath magnified through the microphone, the isolated sound cutting through the ringing in his ears. He opens his mouth to sing a note, but nothing comes out. His throat is closed. Playboy’s nose crinkles. He can’t do it.

Playboy shoves the microphone away, and pulls out the cassette recorder in his pocket instead.

Suprema’s voice bursts from the device.

_“No-- I mean, is he in over his own head?”_

_“Pardon?”_

_“Is he retarded?”_

_“Retarded means slow, is he slow?”_

_“No.”_

_“Well then, he doesn’t sound retarded to me.”_

_“Love that logic. Not.”_

_“--Not---”_

_“--Not---”_

Jungkook clicks his device over and over, forcing the words to repeat and play over themselves.

_“--Over his head?”_

_“--Pardon--”_

_“--Retarded means slow--”_

_“Doesn’t sound--”_

_“--Love--”_

_“--Not--”_

VEEEEEP.

Playboy rewinds. Listens again. And again. And again.

He combines the sound-bites into new sentence structures. He layers in a melody and backing track. Light piano keys, a mix of electronic samples. He fiddles with his turntables, adding DJ disc-scratching and reversed audio vocals for fun. It’s not as though he’s a professional composer, or anything.

By the time his arrangement resembles a full-fledged song, sunlight streams into Playboy’s bedroom to signal the incoming dawn. Playboy doesn’t notice. He clicks play on his equipment once more, and listens to his creation.

_“--Love--”_

_“--Is--”_

_“--Not--”_

_“--Over--”_

_“ Love is not over, over...”_

Playboy leans back in chair, smiling idly, conducting the small symphony with his hands. He spins around in his chair, as his product blasts through the speakers. He glances down at his burner phone. No calls. Playboy sighs.

He pulls his finished product out of the cassette player, and walks over to his big chest full of other mixtapes. Playboy pauses. It’s been awhile since he’s made a new track.

Something is lodged deep in the center of the chest. A sliver of scratched up silver casing. Too painfully familiar a reminder.

 

* * *

 

_Sunlight fills the car in a golden halo of light, as his family crosses the bridge towards home. His father is glittering with pride. His mother is catching glances at the backseat, smiling so much that her eyes crinkle with happiness. His brother laughs beside him, harmonizing to the tune they’re listening to through their shared earbuds. The two siblings share their first iPod: a rare gift they treasure with all their young hearts. Usually, the brothers fight over song choice. Today however, the brothers sing in harmony._

_Until that car filled with golden light drifts too close for comfort towards the other vehicle in front of them, as the two joyful parents are too overwhelmed with hope, with the belief that, just this once, their family will be given a small, blessed opportunity, because fate collide to crush the cars into contact with shattered glass and shattered metal and a fatal slamming of the brakes far too late--_

_And his brother is curled around him, sobbing and screaming for help. It’s loud. It’s all so loud. The screaming mixed with car alarms, blazing fires, and a high-pitched screeching hum...the hum growing louder and louder as the minutes go by..._

 

* * *

 

Playboy opens his eyes.

The old white iPod; shattered beyond repair, cracked to the point of no return; is in his hand. Playboy drops it back into the trunk, and slams it shut.

He closes his eyes again, gritting his teeth, taking a series of short, rapid breaths.

Playboy needs to go somewhere.

 


	7. CHEER UP by TWICE

Playboy sits in the familiar black-bean noodle restaurant, stomach grumbling, shades on, pokerface present, in his usual booth. As always, the place is playing the trendy pop music that Playboy always prefers.

 

_ ♪Every day it rings, the bell bell bell♪ _

_ ♪Now care for me♪ _

_ ♪I don’t wanna waste my battery♪ _

_ ♪It keeps coming, it keeps coming♪ _

_ ♪Like my phone’s gonna explode♪ _

 

The walls are plastered in pleasant pictures of the sea. Mountainsides. Country life. The decor is rustic and classical. Lots of carved wood and hand-made touches. 

Playboy picks up the newspaper left on the seat. It’s plastered with the headlines of yesterday’s heist. A blurry photo of his crew in their car is emblazoned on the front. He tosses the paper away, and opts to look out the window instead.

The city is crisp and modern outside, all white concrete. Business people are flooding the streets, as per usual on a morning like this. The crowd thins, revealing a strangely familiar stranger walking against the tide of the crowd--

\--the door to the restaurant opens, and it’s him. The stranger from the day before, with the purple headphones and the strange clothes and the strikingly gorgeous face, humming and skipping into the dinner, singing under his breath, in a deep, velvety voice:

_ “Play, play, play, play. Playboy. Play. Play, boy--” _

CLICK!

Playboy automatically turns cassette recorder turned on. 

He whips his head around to stare at the boy’s retreating back. He’s still wearing the jean jacket from yesterday, but opted to wear a black-collared shirt and formal pants today. Playboy replays the tune.

_ “--Playboy. Play. Play, boy--” _

Playboy strains to hear that velvety voice again, peering into the kitchen doors where the boy exited. Playboy even takes off his sunglasses to get a better glimpse. 

“Hey, welcome to Victory’s. What can I get you?”

Playboy looks up in a daze. 

It’s him. He changed into an apron, and he’s holding a notepad, but still, it’s him. He’s got golden-brown hair, huge, long-lashed eyes, and a sweet smile.

“Uh.”

“Don’t worry if you need a minute to decide,” he says reassuringly, waving his hand away. “I’m all yours.”

He makes a point to scan the whole restaurant. Since it’s the lunch rush, the place is packed, typical for a popular spot downtown. The waiter laughs, and leans closer to Playboy. 

“Well, I’m yours for a few minutes.” He notices something. “Whoa. Are you recording me?” 

Playboy turns crimson, and looks down at the recording device clutched in his hand.

“Oh--”

The stranger quirks his brow. “Am I being tested for quality service?”

“No, I, u-um--”

He picks up the recorder, and says, “Hello? Hello, testing. Yo! Welcome to Victory’s.” He flourishes dramatically with a hand, and in a low voice, continues, “What can I get for you...sir?” 

He emphasizes the ‘sir’ with a playful smile, and holds out the recording device to Playboy’s mouth.

Playboy gives him a goofy, embarrassed smile. He takes the recorder back, and pointedly turns it off. He looks down at his menu again.

“Maybe some coffee to start,” his waiter says kindly. “Well actually, are you starting your day, or are you just getting off?”

“Um, no coffee, just the black-bean noodle special,” Playboy says. “And I don’t know if I ever get off. I mean, they call, I go.”

His phone buzzes abruptly. Without looking, Playboy slaps his hand over the flip phone, and turns it off. He chews his lip in annoyance.

 

_ ♪Sorry I couldn’t pick up earlier♪ _

_ ♪I was meeting my friends, shy shy shy♪ _

_ ♪I can’t really meet you right now, sorry♪ _

_ ♪I’ll call you a little later♪ _

 

The waiter doesn’t seem to notice. He has nice, white teeth. Tan skin. Amazing cheekbones. “So, what do you do for work?”

“Oh.” Pause. “I’m a driver.”

“Taxi?”

“Not really…”

“Ah, so more like a chauffeur.” The waiter snaps his fingers, and grins. “You drive around important people!”

Playboy fiddles with his hands. “Yeah.”

“Famous idols? Rich business people? Anyone I know?” he whispers. His voice is like dark chocolate.

“...I hope not.”

The waiter’s lips are a nice shape when he laughs. “Well, aren’t you mysterious?”

“Maybe,” he mumbles, smiling softly.

Another laugh emerges from the waiter’s amazing mouth. “Maybe?”

SMACK!

A man behind the counter loudly hit the table, causing Playboy's waiter jump out of his skin . The man waves in the waiter’s direction and shouts, “YAH! Taehyung! Hurry up!”

The waiter bows and apologizes profusely, rushing away to serve other customers. Playboy stares at him.

He keeps staring until the boy is back in the kitchens, getting food for customers, away from sight. When he’s sure the waiter is gone, Playboy clicks his cassette player next to his ear. Playboy closes his eyes, and falls into a daze, listening to the replay over and over, drowning out the sound of the pop song in the restaurant in favour of that soft, velvety voice.

  
_“Play, play, play, play. Playboy. Play. Play, boy--”_


	8. Russian Roulette by Red Velvet

_ “Play, play, play, play. Playboy. Play. Play, boy--” _

 

“Your noodles, sir.” 

Playboy yelps, and throws his player straight at the window. It awkwardly bounces off and lands on his seat. Time passed by in a flash, and without Playboy even noticing, the song in the restaurant had transitioned to a different bright tune.

 

_ ♪La-la-la-la-la~♪ _

 

His waiter looks less cheerful than before. He shuffles his feet.

“About earlier--that was unprofessional of me, asking about your personal life. It’s my first day working here. I’m sorry. I made things awkward.”

The waiter’s face is tight with anxiety. He keeps sneaking glances back at his boss, who surely scolded him for wasting time in frivolous customer conversation.

Playboy blurts, “Not you're awkward, but just because we're-- I'm awkward. You're gorgeous.”

Playboy’s face turns bright red. The waiter tilts his head thoughtfully.

He mumbles, “Thank you? I’m sure you don’t mean it.”

Playboy adamantly shakes his head. “No, I do. I really do--” He looks at his nametag. “--Deborah?”

Taehyung looks down at his shirt, and stifles a laugh.

“Oh. Uh, yeah. The last person who worked here was a westerner, I think?”

“You’re gorgeous, Deborah,” Jungkook says immediately.

The waiter blinks rapidly. He breaks into a small smile. “Thank you, Mr. Chaffeur.”

Playboy blushes again. “You remembered.”

The waiter shrugs. “It’s only been a few minutes.”

“Thank you.”

The waiter’s expression twists to something more sympathetic. He glances at the counter, where his boss appears busy with a customer. He leans in, and whispers, “I was wondering--do you ever just hit the road for fun?”

Playboy thinks back to yesterday. The rush. The music. The speed. “Sometimes.”

His waiter sighs wistfully, as though a heavy weight is pressing on his back. “I can’t imagine. I don’t think I’ve driven for fun since I moved to this city.”

“Do you miss it?” Playboy asks.

“All the time,” he confesses. In a rush, the waiter says, “Sometimes all I want to do is get a cheap car and head for the countryside with nothing but my music and the open road. Head to Daegu, my hometown, or Busan, near the ocean, or anywhere with mountains and the sea. A calm place.”

Playboy stares into his eyes. “I’d like that.”

They share a gaze with each other for a moment, caught in that shining ideal. An escape into the idyllic country landscapes framed on the walls of the restaurant.

The waiter looks away first. He gazes forlornly at the other tables. “Well, I need to get back to the other customers, but, if you have any questions or concerns, let me know, okay?”

He makes a move to leave. 

“Wait,” Playboy says.

The waiter looks back at him, confused. His eyes flutter when he's confused.

Playboy asks, “What was that song you were singing, earlier?”

The waiter’s long lashes flutter again, only this time, he breaks into a wide grin afterwards. It lights up his face and forms his mouth into an adorably boxy smile. Playboy's heart melts.

 

_ ♪You never had this deep of a dream before♪ _

_ ♪My heart and this night makes this game flicker♪ _

_ ♪You can’t control♪ _

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its comeback season! To celebrate, I uploaded two chapters today!!!! Make sure to buy/stream the new BTS album once its released. also, comments/reviews/requests always appreciated.


	9. PLAYBOY by EXO

_ This song is a little different from your usual tastes,  _ Seokjin signs while feeling the vibrations on the speakers.  _ What are the lyrics about, exactly? _

_ The lyrics are about being greasy as hell,  _ Playboy signs back. He laughs when Seokjin makes a disgusted face, and dramatically takes his hand off the speakers, wiping it on his shirt.

Playboy freestyle-dances to the song with ease. He found the album straight away when he marched into his favourite record store. The song itself belonged to one of the most famous k-pop albums of the modern era. It was a B-side track that the waiter apparently couldn’t get out of his head. 

Playboy spins on his toes, slams his foot on the carpet, and attempts a few hip thrusts. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Seokjin rolling his eyes. Playboy grins, does a leap in the air, and lands in front of his brother. He boops him on the nose. Seokjin smiles, bemused.

_ So, who’s the guy? _ He signs. 

Playboy skips over to the player where he popped in the CD. The album booklet contains photos of the members of the band. He hold it up and signs,  _ EXO are a big boy band, it’s more than just one guy, old man. _

_ I meant, who’s the guy who told you about this song,  _ Seokjin clarifies.

Playboy blushes. He looks down at the album booklet again. Without making eye contact, he signs,  _ No one. _

_ It’s okay. You know I’m fine with you and boys.  _ He pauses.  _ Unless...is he from work? _

_ No,  _ Playboy signs back immediately.  _ Nothing like that. _

Seokjin’s face his tight.  _ Stay away from that work. _

Playboy chews his bottom lip. He clutches the album booklet in his hands. 

_ One more job, and I’m done. _

Seokjin looks unconvinced. Playboy runs his hands through his hair, and goes towards the speaker blaring out his song. He sits down next to it. Playboy covets the song, reimagining the words as sung from the mouth of his preferred singer.

 

_ ♪My heart is covered black, your place♪ _

_ ♪Your heart is burnt white, my place♪ _

_ ♪Of course you can’t get sick of this play♪ _

_ ♪My words are forgotten black, my base♪ _

_ ♪Your words have vanished white, your trace♪ _

_ ♪Of course you can’t turn things around in this play♪ _

 

Playboy’s phone in his pocket begins buzzing incessantly once more. He sneaks a peek at his brother. Seokjin looks lost in thought, his hand firmly against the speaker. Playboy takes the CD out of the player. The stinging ring in his ears crawls back into his mind. Playboy lifts up his phone.

“Oh there you are.”

“Who is this?”

“Who else would call you on your burner phone and use your code name?” Captain sighs. “I’ve got a job for you.”

“A job?”

“Yes, Playboy, a job. Are you in?”

“Am I in?”

“That was a rhetorical question, Playboy. You’re in.”

Playboy closes his eyes, inhaling deeply. “Yes, captain.”


	10. Thuggin 4 My Baby by YULTRON, Jay Park, & Bone Thugs-n-Harmony

Captain never gets the exact same crew to do a job twice, and tonight is no exception. 

Playboy is all too familiar with the stench of cigarettes and weed, the smell of sweat on the dancers, the sight of booze and drugs littering the tables. Captain prefers to do introductions and beginning business deals in his favourite underground club, The Cypher. The stages are usually full of wannabe rookie rappers, and when concerts aren’t held, the club is pounding with hip-hop music and electronic dance music. 

There’s a stained leather couch that is strictly Captain’s territory, on the upper level of the club, in the corner where the music is marginally quieter- but not by much. Three hardened criminals whom Playboy has never seen in his life lounge in the couches. They all look him up and down with familiar contempt, faces lit in neon colours, and darkened in shadow.

Captain gestures carelessly towards the short, stocky guy leaning back in his seat. He’s got cropped black hair, and he wears a tanktop that shows off his countless tattoos.

“This is Mad Dog,” he says. “We call him that because after every job, he goes home to his dogs and shows them a good time.”

Playboy chokes at the implication.

Mad Dog cries, “That’s not true, it’s just a nickname! It’s not true, I don’t fuck the--!”

Captain ignores his outburst, and moves on towards the taller man sitting next to him. “This is Starstripe, he puts the american in American Express.”

Playboy gives Starstripe a blank look. 

“I specialize in credit card fraud,” he clarifies sheepishly. He’s soft-looking and skinny. He rubs the back of his neck. “Also, uh, I’m from Atlanta.”

Captain shakes his head, annoyed. “I wish you had a funnier pun or something for your name.” He strolls over to the third person in the new crew, leaning against the wall, shades on. “Playboy, this is Seven.”

The man holds up his hand. “No need for a cheesy one-liner, Cap.” 

He strides towards Playboy, and stares at him hungrily like a shark seeking its prey. The man wears an ensemble of expensive brand name streetwear: leather jacket, red shirt, leather pants, black cap. His hair is intricately dyed in red, pink, orange, and brown. His face, however, is delicately constructed, with a high, thin nose, sharp cheekbones, and a playful mouth. He looks like a celebrity who wouldn't hesitate to smack you if you showed any disrespect. “So, this the kid Suprema told me about? The mute who listens to shitty idol music on the road?”

Mad Dog stands up, and joins Seven in his sizing up of Playboy. Starstripe joins him.

“Why does he listen to music on the job?” Mad Dog squints. “Does he have mental problems?”

Seven adjusts his hat and smirks at Playboy. “Sorry, boy, but I got the mental problems in the group.” He grins, teeth shining like they reflected sunlight. “I’m sort of the mood-maker for any crew I’m in. As in, I make the mood batshit crazy.” 

From across them, already lounging in a chair, Captain says, “He’s got tinnitus.”

They all look at him.

Starstripe squints. “Tin-ah what?” 

Captain, without giving them a passing glance as he sips a whisky, continues, “He was in a car accident as a kid, still got a low-buzzing drone in his ears. Plays music to drown it out.”

The crew all look at each other, unamused, before returning to their lounging places. Playboy hesitates, before sitting beside Mad Dog on the couch. Playboy can’t help but take a closer look at the intricate tattoos all over his arms.

“More dogs?” he mumbles. Mad Dog snaps his head up to look at him.

“What?”

“Y-your arms,” Playboy stutters uncomfortably, pointing out the large inscriptions. There’s a drawing of a pomeranian, a chihuahua, a golden retriever, and a maltese. There are little hearts drawn too. “You really like dogs, huh?” 

Mad Dog grits his teeth, and throws the towel he picked up onto the ground. “Goddamnit Captain, you made the kid I screwed a pooch!”

Starstripe bursts into laughter. Seven continues smirking. 

“I don’t, kid, I swear to god, that one time in ‘09 was just a misunderstanding--”

Captain snaps, “Mad Dog, sit your ass down.” He looks across the room, and raises up his hand. “Shots! Let’s get some shots to celebrate our new arrangement, boys!”

Playboy keeps himself tight and compact on the couch as tiny glasses filled with sharp-smelling soju pile on the table in front of him. Starstripe, Mad Dog, Seven, and Captain all pick up glasses. Captain gives Playboy a pointed look.

“C’mon, it’s playtime,” he says with a smile. 

Playboy takes the shot. They all click their glasses together.

“Glad to do business with all of you,” he says, and throws back the shot.

Playboy swallows half the shot, and coughs most of it out, the stinging in the back of his throat lighting his esophagus on fire. Through his watery eyes, he sees Mad Dog and Starstripe, while not completely embarrassing themselves by coughing, wince at the sheer strength of the alcohol. Even Captain smacks his lips together, and makes an approving whistle at the taste.

Seven smirks, and grabs a second shot while the rest of them make pained expressions. He sticks his pinky finger out, and sips his shot like it’s tea. The club lights colour his face in a warm, magenta light.

He snorts loudly, and says, “What a bunch of pussies.”


	11. Devil by Super Junior

The incessant whining in Playboy’s ears is drowned out by the stinging headache in his brain. The next morning has arrived, and Playboy is so hungover he can hardly think straight.

Last night was a blur of alcohol, terrible music, and drunken kareoke that Playboy was pretty sure resulted in a sloppy makeout session with a tall, blurry man. His hot mouth tasted like cigarettes and cheap whisky.

Right now, Playboy is on the floor of the planning room in the Bighit Entertainment building. He sits up blearily, and spots Mad Dog and Starstripe laying on the ground along with him. Playboy shakes his head a little. The boss won’t be happy with that.

Captain, standing straight and sober as a preacher, taps his foot at the front of the room.

“If you idiots can’t even hold your liquor, how do you expect to pull off a heist?” He says coldly. “Up! Now! Time to start talking shop!”

Mad Dog and Starstripe yelp, rushing to their seats obediently. Playboy sighs: a strong part of him wants to just roll over and nap for a few more minutes. The other half doesn’t have a death wish.

He paws his pockets, and finds his iPod and sunglasses. Playboy puts on his sunglasses, puts his earbuds into his ears, and parks himself at the end of the table.

Even with his sleepy vision and dark shades, Playboy can still spot Seven, perky and smug, sitting a few metres away from him. He sure looks peachy. Playboy chews the inside of his cheek, and focuses back to the front of the room. 

He clicks play on his song as Captain opens his mouth.

“Playboy, you with us?”

He nods.

 

_ ♪Hey hey, well...Hey hey♪ _

_ ♪What I’m about to say♪ _

_ ♪Might sound strange♪ _

_ ♪I don’t know why but you’re a bit hard for me♪ _

_ ♪I’m always struggling♪ _

 

Captain's lips form words in a striking way.

 

_ ♪I want you so bad♪ _

_ ♪Oh baby baby please don’t go♪ _

_ ♪Everything, even kneeling before you♪ _

_ ♪Feels so natural now♪ _

 

He enunciates his words crisply, gesturing pointedly at important parts of his diatribe.

 

_ ♪I keep begging you, endlessly♪ _

_ ♪Damnit, I can’t even fall asleep♪ _

_ ♪I can’t figure out what this feeling is♪ _

 

Captain is a smart man.

 

_ ♪You’re cold and hot, devil♪ _

_ ♪Like a midsummer rain shower♪ _

_ ♪After drenching my hot body♪ _

_ ♪You burn up my throat again♪ _

_ ♪You’re the salt of the faraway desert♪ _

_ ♪A shadow of the red hot equator♪ _

_ ♪You make me taste a moment of pleasure♪ _

_ ♪Then you burn up my throat again♪ _

_ ♪You’re cold and hot♪ _

 

Captain claps his hands together and asks, “Any questions?”

Seven eagerly raises his hand as though he’s in school.

“I have a question!” He practically sings. His smile widens, and he jubilantly points at Playboy. “How the fuck am I supposed to believe that phones over here heard any goddamn part of your plan! He’s wired in, there’s no way he’s listening.”

His gives Playboy a wicked glare, with that crazy huge smile plastered on his face.

Captain quirks up his brow. He gestures towards Playboy. “Well?”

He pauses the song. Playboy takes out his earbuds, sits up straight, and takes off his sunglasses.

In a flat, monotonous voice, he repeats:

“We’re going to hit an armoured truck at Kookmin Bank at 10 a.m sharp. You have the details of the route because someone working in the department has a nasal problem. The bank itself is right by Nonhyeon, so we'll able to reach the bridge while a diversion crew blows up a bread truck in the way of the cops. Dress code is dark face masks, but we shouldn’t buy all of our masks at the same time, or else it’ll look suspicious. A switch car is already set up, but you want me to go out to the parking structure and find a ride that stays incognito for longer. Boost a commuter car, a family car. Something that blends in with morning traffic. Maybe on the heavy side, in case we need to ram the cops off the road. A Soul, an Optima, a Tuscon-- whatever it is, it needs to be ready for an 8:30 start. In the a.m. Any questions?”

He puts back on his sunglasses, as Captain breaks into a large, goofy grin.

“Child’s play,” he says happily.

“Where the fuck did you find this kid?” Seven mutters. He isn’t smiling now. He stands up. “I mean, really--”

Playboy puts his earphones back on. 

 

_ ♪One day, when you’re♪ _

_ ♪Lonely and crying♪ _

_ ♪I’ll wipe away those tears♪ _

_ ♪If you would allow me♪ _

 

However, he can still lip-read the conversation Seven has with Captain.

“--Exactly how many jobs have you done with that boy?” He says grimly, without any hint of humour in his voice.

 

_ ♪The stars show my fate♪ _

_ ♪And now I desperately want you♪ _

_ ♪All day, I’m in desire and despair♪ _ “

_ ♪Everything is just so amazing♪ _

 

If you can’t take my word then get back in that fucking elevator,” Captain says, gritting his teeth. “You never heard of The Spirit of 128?”

Seven hesitates, and sneaks a glance at the kid. “The joyride?”

“Yeah, the ghost who baited cops doing more like 200 kilometres in a 128 road, headlights off, brake lights disconnected, sped them in circles across the city,” Captain gestures to Playboy, “That was my baby right there.”

“Your baby?”

 

_ ♪No word is enough to describe this♪ _

_ ♪A bit more complicated than romantic♪ _

_ ♪I can’t figure out what this feeling is♪ _

 

Captain smirks. “Yeah, my baby. He’s been breaking into cars ever since he was old enough to see over the dash. He stole my mercedes when he was thirteen. I watched him do it. I didn’t stop him, because I was so amazed at the golden opportunity I saw in my hands.”

“A little golden boy,” Seven snorts.

 

_ ♪You’re cold and hot, devil♪ _

_ ♪Like a midsummer rain shower♪ _

_ ♪After drenching my hot body♪ _

_ ♪You burn up my throat again♪ _

 

“He didn’t know how much merch was in the trunk once he dumped it off the side of the road, but once I found him, I made sure to tell him--” He held up a finger “--who I was--” another finger “--what I was capable of--” another finger “--and how much he owed me.” Captain clenched his hand into a fist. “And since he’s been paying me back, he’s also showed me what he’s capable of.” 

Seven crossed his arms. “Well, ain’t y’all cute.”

 

_ ♪You’re the salt of the faraway desert♪ _

_ ♪A shadow of the red hot equator♪ _

_ ♪You make me taste a moment of pleasure♪ _

_ ♪Then you burn up my throat again♪ _

_ ♪You’re cold and hot♪ _

 

Captain snaps, “Are you in, or are you out?”

Seven grinned, and opened his arms. “Oh, I’m all for this heist.”

 

_ ♪My throat is burning up♪ _

_ ♪I wanna taste the wet you♪ _

_ ♪Listen to me (listen to me)♪ _

_ ♪Accept me (accept me)♪ _

 

Seven shrugs, and points at Playboy. “Just don’t expect me to play nice with your little golden boy.”

 

_ ♪I say, I just like it all♪ _

_ ♪(I just like it all)♪ _

_ ♪I say, I like everything about you♪ _

_ ♪(I like everything about you)♪ _

_ ♪And I say, beautiful you♪ _

_ ♪(Beautiful you)♪ _

_ ♪And I say, be mine♪ _

 

* * *

 

“You passed his test.”

Seven looks up as he puts on his fur-lined green coat. It’s the middle of summer.  He’s a fashionable, impractical criminal. “What?”

The shrill ringing in Playboy's ears sounds like a warning.

“Captain gets his associates drunk before a plan to see if they’re good workers or not. If they’re only in it for the money, if they aren't loyal, and would sell him out. If they get too hungover, they get a strike. If they don’t ask questions or listen to the plan, that’s strike two.”

Seven looks at him curiously, and puffs up the fluff on his hood. He tilts his head to look back at Starstripe and Mad Dog, who are blearily laughing and chatting about something unrelated to the heist. Captain is still at the front of the room, checking over his whiteboard.

“What happens at strike three?”

“You strike out,” Playboy mutters. “You’re a liability to be associated with. A danger to keep in the long run.”

Seven squints. “Why are you telling me this?”

Playboy stares at Seven blankly.

“Because it’s rare to pass the test. It’s good.”

“Aren’t you hungover, kid?” Seven frowns. “How come you’re his golden boy when you don’t follow his rules?”

“I don’t get strikes.”

Seven wrinkles his sharp nose. 

“What makes you so fucking special?” he spits, ruffling his expensive coat as he says it.

Playboy thinks back to the club. The heat. The blurriness. The loosened inhibitions.

“I’m his boy,” he says soft.

Seven rolls his eyes. “Okay--well, you ain’t my fucking boy, that’s for sure.”

 


	12. I Am The Best by 2NE1

Playboy asks, “What uh...what are you doing?”

“I’m praying, you dumb motherfucker, do NOT--” Seven’s head bows low over his praying hands. “--interrupt me while I’m talking to the lord.”

Playboy blinks a little, but he nods, and points his gaze straight ahead. They’re about to hit an armoured truck located at the biggest bank branch in Seoul. He’s behind the wheel, as usual. Seven is in the passenger seat, while Mad Dog and Starstripe sit at the back. They’re all decked out in pitch black heist clothes. Expensive streetwear that Seven picked out, claiming they were going to ‘go out in style.’

Seven takes a deep breath, and murmurs:

“What’s in there is ours to take.  What’s in there is ours. In the night, they stole the paper from our wallets and the change from our pockets. But we’re going to take it back. It’s revenge for serving those rich chaebol scum. It’s all for you, my god. My rock. My lord and saviour. I love you, mom. I’ll make you proud. Amen.”

Seven exhales deeply, and lifts up his head.

“Let’s fucking do this.”

Playboy clicks play on his song in anticipation, the AUX cord connected to the car radio.

 

_ ♪I am the Best♪ _

 

In the back, Starstripe tosses facemasks to Mad Dog, Seven, and Playboy.

“The fuck is this, Starstripe?”   

 

_ ♪I am the Best♪ _

 

Seven holds up his mask. It’s of a horse head.

Starstripe says, “Captain said animal masks, right?”

Seven’s eyes are bulging out of his skull. “He said dark masks! Dark! Masks! What the fuck? Are you stupid? Why a horse?!?” 

“You kind of look like a horse--” Seven holds up his hand like he’s about to strangle Starstripe. He holds his own eagle mask up defensively. “Okay, maybe I misheard! I’m sorry if the Captain’s korean is a little hard to understand, sometimes!”

“Korean, motherfucker!” Seven yells. “Do you speak it?” 

 

_ ♪Th-th-the Best♪ _

 

Mad Dog angrily blurts out, “Did you get me a dog mask with lipstick stains all over it?!?”

“I thought it was funny and accurate!” Starstripe sputters.

Mad Dog howls, “I’ll kill you, if we don’t die today!”

 

_ ♪Bam Ratatata Tatatatata♪ _

 

“Why did you get me a mask?” Playboy asks curiously, looking down at the black mask in his hands. “I’m the driver… it’s not like I need one.” He squints. “Is this a bunny?”

“Yeah, y,know--like the playboy bunny!” Starstripe cries. “It was a joke, jesus christ!”

 

_ ♪Bam Ratatata Tatatatata♪ _

 

“Whatever, let’s just--” Seven puts on his ridiculous horse mask. He lunges for the door handle, but pauses for a second. “What the hell? How much did this cost? Why’s it so detailed?”

Starstripe throws his hands up in the air and whines, “It’ cost fifty dollars on Naver! Plus shipping costs! It was a bad investment! Look, can we just rob this armoured truck already?”

 

_ ♪Bam Ratatata Tatatatata♪ _

 

Playboy says, “Wait!”

“WHAT?” Starstripe, Seven, and Mad Dog shout in unision.

 

_ ♪Bam Ratatata Tatatatata♪ _

 

“I gotta start the song again!” Playboy insists.

Seven huffs, “Oh my God--” at the same time the song croons:

 

_ ♪Oh my god♪ _

 

Playboy rewinds the song. He waits for for the electronic beats to pass in the song, before gesturing out the door and blurting, “--Okay go!”

Seven kicks down the car door, and gestures for the other two to do so as well. Together, the horse, the eagle, and the dog all stride towards the armoured truck, cocking their guns and looking like intimidating halloween trick-or-treaters. From the window, Playboy can see the eagle cock his gun and point it with deadly aim at the driver of the truck, but before he can find out if he follows through with the violent act, Playboy jolts the car forward out of view, obsessively moving to the lyrics of his chosen song, tapping out the rhythm on his steering wheel with twitchy precision.

 

_ ♪Bam Ratatata Tatatatata♪ _

_ ♪Bam Ratatata Tatatatata♪ _

_ ♪Bam Ratatata Tatatatata♪ _

_ ♪Bam Ratatata Tatatatata♪ _

_ ♪Oh my god♪ _

 

He shifts gears, and backs up the car into the first position. The eagle and the dog have bags full of cash, while the horse stays back to scan his work on the driver--

The driver whose head is bleeding out on the cold, concrete ground. Playboy’s own blood runs cold.

The loud slamming of the car doors around him break his focus on the casualty, and before he knows it, the horse is back in the stable, and he’s ripped off his 50 dollar mask to reveal the glowing face of a murderer.

“Step on it, Golden boy,” he says, breathing hard through his nose. His eyes are wild and bloodshot.

Playboy doesn’t need to be told twice. He floors it, spinning the car in a perfect circle on the road towards their escape. The tires of their car squeal against the gravel as they ride with breakneck speed towards the bridge.

VROOM! They exit from the neighbourhood of the bank and hear the police cars whistle their sirens behind them. 

BANG! A bullet splits the glass into a cobweb-like shatter as it pierces through the back of their car.

BANG! Starstripe and Mad Dog, still inexplicably wearing their goofy animal masks, shriek in terror. They grab their guns and click them in the direction of the cops, fire a shower of bullets in their direction.

Traffic is getting more crowded in this area, and the front of their car nearly rearends the minivan in front of them, and Playboy narrowly avoids total destruction, but the right headlight and most of the front of the car crunches into the minivan with a CRASH! 

“PLAYBOY!” Seven hollers. “Drive into the carpool lane!”

Playboy grits his teeth. 

“WE GOT FOUR FUCKING PEOPLE IN THE CAR, DON’T WE???”

He follows the order, and tears through four lanes in order to reach the leftmost one. It’ll get them to their escape route faster, it’ll make them harder to catch, and the cars will be filled with more innocent fodder per car to be mowed down.

Seven apparently has the same idea, because he’s glancing back and forth between their shattered back window, and the fact that their front is trashed, and before Playboy knows it, they’re halfway across the bridge and Seven is opening the door and motioning for all of them to get out.

“We’re getting a new ride.”

Playboy unplugs his iPod from the AUX cord, and his ears are clouded with sounds of traffic, approaching sirens, and general sounds of unease. He gets out of the car and sees Seven strolls toward the blue car in front of them. He taps his pistol in front of the driver’s window with utmost politeness.

The driver rolls down her window. From Playboy’s distance, he can hear a baby crying in the backseat.

Playboy clenches his fist, and looks away, feeling the ringing in his ears match the baby’s wailing. From the driver’s seat, the woman cries, “Please, don’t do this! I have a child!”

Seven has the nerve to laugh.

“So? I have a mom, doesn’t make special.” He shrugs. “Get the fuck outta the car!”

He doesn’t wait for her answer, instead grabbing her and forcing her out. She collapses on the ground, sobbing her eyes out, and Playboy can’t control it, he just has to rush to the backseat of the car, and scoop up the kid in his hands, even though he’s snotty and screaming and pathetic, and cradle him in his arms.

“Leave the kid,” Seven shouts. “He’s can be our insurance--our hostage!”

Playboy shakes his head, ignoring him, softly handing the little boy back to his mother, who looks at him with a conflicted cocktail of emotions on her face: relief, curiosity, confusion, vulnerability.

Seven groans, “We gotta go, we gotta go!”

“I’m sorry,” Playboy whispers, and breaks apart from the mother and son in order to arrive back in the driver’s seat of their newly stolen car. 

Mad Dog and Starstripe lag behind, maskless at last, hauling the bags of cash with them and stumbling at the heaviness of their cargo. At one point, Mad Dog trips and falls on his face. He shakes it off, and quickly reaches the car.

“Took you animals long enough,” Seven mutters. 

Playboy plugs his iPod back into the car radio, having barely missed a bar of the song. He sighs, and slams the car into overdrive, as the sun sets over the river, casting a heavenly glow over the bridge, making the polluted, disgusting water below them look like a shimmering oasis of golden hues. The sirens have faded away. Their little carjacking on the bridge has made for an excellent traffic jam.

“Fuck,” Mad Dog says abruptly.

 

_ ♪Bam Ratatata Tatatatata♪ _

_ ♪Bam Ratatata Tatatatata♪ _

_ ♪Bam Ratatata Tatatatata♪ _

_ ♪Bam Ratatata Tatatatata♪ _

_ ♪Bam Ratatata Tatatatata♪ _

 

Seven grits his teeth and asks what’s wrong. When Mad Dog sheepishly admits that he dropped his dog mask somewhere on the road while he was carrying the cash, and Starstripe confesses that he definitely did the exact same thing, CRASH! 

 

_ ♪Oh my god♪ _

 

Blood drips down Seven’s hand after he furiously smashes his fist through his passenger seat window.

Seven does a delicate facepalm into his scarlet-covered hand, as the sunset lighting his face in a golden halo of light, and slowly mutters:

“Strike three. You two motherfuckers are out.”


End file.
